


Connor

by WeNeedARuse



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Job, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 18:44:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20296198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeNeedARuse/pseuds/WeNeedARuse
Summary: 'What would Colm say if he saw him now? Not only on his knees for a man, not only indulging in a sin against the Lord (never minding the killing and fornicating and drinking and casual blasphemy Colm likes to dole out on a daily basis)Not only sin.But with his enemy.'An encounter with Dutch from Connor's POV. A side story to The Revenge Business.





	Connor

**Author's Note:**

> Um, so
> 
> I know this is incredibly self indulgent and I'm sorry. There's no Vandermorgan here. Just Connor and Dutch in a room. There’s smut, it’s all smut really but for a reason. 
> 
> It's more of an insight into Connor's character really.
> 
> So. I know most of you are here for the Vandermorgan, so I don't expect many people to read it. However, I liked Connor, I liked his character and I wanted to show the few that asked just a little bit more of him.
> 
> And as always, comments and kudos give me life.

He knew Dutch Van Der Linde didn’t love him. He knew that from the start. Why should he, for one? Why would he, for another? 

Was he even capable of that kind of emotion?

Oh, but he was wicked. Wicked and handsome and so good with his words, with that silver tongue.

Silver tongue licking down his throat, 

While wicked hands unbuckle his belt.

It’s wrong. What they’re doing. What he wants.

What he’s allowing to be done to him.

Colm always said it was wrong. Caught him once too, on all fours with one of his friends. Letting himself be ‘used like an animal’

The worst way to be found out.

Colm had killed his lover. Right there as he’d grunted like a hog behind him, Colm had shot him in the back of the head. A mess then of blood and semen and god knows what else.

And Colm had told Connor that if he ever, ever, caught him like that again, he’d do the same to him.

Later, much later, when he’d calmed down he’d returned to the brother he loved. He’d offered him whiskey, offered him a whore, told him he was the only one, only man in the world looking out for him.

But he never let go of that one undeniable fact-

That what Connor liked to do was wrong.

But how? How could this be wrong? How could the pleasure of this man in his arms be wrong?

Jesus but he smells so good.

Cologne and smoke and whiskey.

And the sounds he makes.

Soft low growls. Snarls. Like he’s angry. Rage and anger and venom. He matches him in this, does Dutch. In his hatred for himself. In his rage. In his desire to be anything but what he is. His need to prove and prove and prove.

But Dutch Van Der Linde has something so much more, something Connor will never have.

Power.

Ambition.

And the skills to see it through.

Jesus.

He looks even better shirtless. 

Tall and strong, dark hair and bright scars. 

Connor feels himself smile. A rictus grin of desire.

“Get on your knees.”

No-one but Colm orders him about. 

He drops to his knees on the hard floor.

What would Colm say if he saw him now? Not only on his knees for a man, not only indulging in a sin against the Lord (never minding the killing and fornicating and drinking and casual blasphemy Colm likes to dole out on a daily basis)

Not only sin.

But with his enemy.

Oh Colm pretends that Van Der Linde is nothing to him. A bug to be squashed. A snake. A pretender. A jumped up little shit. But he can’t hide this from Connor.

Colm O’Driscoll fears Dutch Van Der Linde. And all he has within him. All that Colm lacks.

“Open.”

Connor opens his mouth.

“You going to bite me, O’Driscoll?” Dutch murmurs above him, wrapping his long fingers into Connor’s hair and tugging hard. The short, sharp pain sends a jolt of pleasure to Connor’s own neglected cock and he groans aloud.

“I want that in me.” He says, wrapping his fingers around Dutch’s exposed cock, noticing yet again that he hasn’t undressed fully, just tugged his pants down a little. “So biting it seems a bit redundant.”

“Big word for you.”

“I know a few.” 

Dutch smiles, all teeth and charm and Connor opens again for him, taking him into his mouth, salt tasting and ah,

It’s all he needs.

And he knows he’s good at this. Knows without a doubt that Dutch won’t have had a better blow job than this. Not with his whore. Not with any other man but him.

The back of his throat feels raw, the back of his neck is being held in a vice-like grip.

Oh god, oh good god Jesus save me.

Connor hears himself moan, like a whore. He reaches down to grip himself, jerk his cock fast because he doesn’t know…

Sometimes Dutch just walks away after, leaves him to go find someone else. And he hates that, he hates it. Wants to come after him. Beat him to the ground.

Beg him.

To give him everything.

He hates him.

Because just looking at him makes him want to come.

Dutch is getting close, he can taste it and Connor readies himself but fingers grip tight in his hair and pull him back, strong hands yank him to his feet.

Manhandle him.

God, he likes that too much.

Dutch looks him in the eyes, and the handsome fucking bastard smiles wide.

“I can’t get over it.” He says suddenly, pushing Connor backwards toward the bed.

“What?” 

Speak to me, keep talking, that voice…

“How you look nothing like him.”

Oh.

Colm.

Of course he doesn’t. Same Pa, different Mama. Ten years apart in age, Connor was gotten on a whore too young to survive the birth.

“You’re such a goddamn pretty thing.” Dutch curls a hand under his jaw and tilts his head back, reaching his other hand around and down and down,

“I ain’t pretty.”

And he knows he’s just saying it to be cruel. He knows it but,

God, yes, he thinks.

Tell me I am.

“Pretty boy.” Dutch pushes past him, goes to the bedside table where the tin of oil stands open. Connor turns and watches as he dips his fingers in.

He wonders what would happen if he pushed him down on the bed and spread him.

If he fucked Dutch Van Der Linde.

“You ever been had?” It’s out of his mouth before he’s even thought it through and Dutch turns to him, eyebrow raised.

“Had?” The way he enunciates things, the sharp cut at the end of that one word. Half the time Connor doesn’t know if he’s doing it to prove he’s better than him. 

“Fucked.” Dutch looks at him a long moment and Connor doesn’t know what that expression means. One of so many, so many he’ll never understand. 

“Not that it’s any of your business.” Dutch comes back to him, nodding for Connor to get on the bed. “But yes, I’ve been fucked. Many times.”

Jesus.

Connor wets his lips, drops down onto the bed and shuffles to the middle.

“I’ve been fucked by God,” Dutch crawls up over him, one hand on his chest to keep him down. “I’ve been fucked by the government. I’ve been fucked by the law, the pinkertons, the crown and the country.” He smiles down at him, lips curled, sardonic and cruel. “I’ve been fucked a thousand times in a thousand different ways.”

Connor can’t compete with him, with his word play.

He drops his head back and opens his legs. 

“I meant you ever been fucked by a man?” 

Dutch laughs.

“Oh I know what you meant.” He tugs Connor over, until he’s on his front, grips his hips and yanks him to all fours. “And like I said, it’s none of your business.”

Oh you have, thinks Connor as a finger pushes inside him slick with oil, not a gentle preparation.

You have, I know it.

Because Dutch is like him in this.

Afraid of what he wants.

He closes his eyes and imagines their places switched. Imagines it’s him fucking him with his fingers, imagines it’s him pushing inside him, feeling that slick tight heat. 

Imagines it’s him pressing his hands to the bed, rearing up, and fucking in hard.

Dutch would look,

So goddamn good,

Being fucked out of his mind.

“Don’t think it, boy.” He’s snapped out of it by Dutch’s lips against his ear, “You will never get that chance.” 

Connor drops his head, looks down between his arms at the state of his bodies excitement.

He won’t last long like this.

Not with the way Dutch fucks. Like he’s angry, like he’s ready to kill, like he’s so full of hatred for himself that this is the only thing, the only way…

Connor slams a hand out to the headboard, gripping on tight as the force of his thrusts threaten to topple him. 

He has never felt more himself than in a moment like this.

With this man.

He screws his eyes shut, and cries out loud as he comes, semen splattering onto the bed covers, his body held up only by Dutch’s tight grip on his hips.

Dutch comes silently, as he often does. 

Another thing Connor wishes he could ask. 

A kiss to the back of his neck, a gesture that fills him with an ache Connor can’t describe and then he lets him go, drops him down onto the bed like a sack of meat. Connor turns, rolling over and grimacing at the pain, the wetness, the stickiness,

Dutch hadn’t even undressed for this, he notices as he watches him pull his pants up, buckle his belt. 

As he lights a cigarette and goes to the window.

Connor lays back and tries to catch his breath.

“When did you say the cart was being put in place?” 

Connor closes his eyes.

“Just after sundown.” 

He’s only here for this. That’s what Dutch keeps telling him. He’s only doing this for information. A sharing of such that is mutually beneficial to both of them.

Connor isn’t sure if he believes that. 

But then, he knows why he’s doing this. And it’s not just because Dutch is the only man he’s ever thought to fall for.

He’s doing it because Colm deserves it.

He’s doing it...

Jesus.

“Arthur will be here soon.” Dutch moves past him to the chair, where the rest of his clothes lay discarded. “Get dressed.” 

“Don’t want your little prodigy to see you like this?” 

Thoughts of his own betrayal makes him angry.

“Afraid of what he’s going to do to you when he finds out what a sick bastard you really are?” 

Dutch turns to him, eyes narrowed.

“No.” He says it so very softly, and the tone is more frightening than rage would have been. “But you should be afraid of what might happen, should Arthur find out how you like things.”

Connor sits up, leans across to the bedside table to get his own cigarette, lighting it to avoid looking at him.

“Arthur ain’t all that frightening.” Just a young boy, trying to act big to impress others.

He and Arthur could be friends.

He looks back to Dutch,

And it seems like...almost like he’s about to say something and then thinks better of it. And something works its way into the back of Connor’s mind, something small and insignificant that lodges there.

“Get dressed. Wait half an hour and then meet us downstairs.” Dutch tells him, pulling on a long black coat and walking to the door.

He doesn’t look like he just fucked him.

He doesn’t look like he just came minutes ago.

He doesn’t look like he just…

Jesus.

Connor lays back on the bed when the door locks with a click. Lays back and closes his eyes. Lays back and feels the ache settle in his bones.

Half an hour.

He smiles to himself, 

Colm will be waiting after. To hear how the job went. And to see the look in his eyes when he finds out it was stolen again, stolen by Dutch Van Der Linde and his chained hound,

God, he’s looking forward to that.

Almost as much as he’s looking forward to his next meeting with Dutch, and what that will bring.


End file.
